


Like They Do in Babylon

by gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Foreplay, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 03:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8086066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows
Summary: Following the gala premiere of “The Bride of Babylon”, Phryne has a little challenge for Jack.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deedeeinfj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/gifts).



> A slightly expanded version of [Chapter 57 of You Asked For It](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4799084/chapters/11164259), in honor of DeeDee's birthday. ♥

The house was dark and quiet, with only the hall light left on to welcome the lady of the house and her escort, upon their late return from a night on the town. They skimmed lightly through the gate and up the walkway, wrapped in each other’s arms, and stood some moments on the front porch before either one even thought of unlocking the front door.

“Thank God that’s over,” Jack muttered, and dipped his head to let his lips whisper over the soft, slightly salt-tinged skin of Phryne’s neck.

She let out a low wicked chuckle. “A little over-stimulated by the film, Jack? I know you’re not a fan of the cinema, but you have to admit, ‘The Bride of Babylon’ does not disappoint.”

“It was better than the stuff coming out of America.” Jack lifted his head slightly for the sole purpose of nibbling gently on Phryne’s earlobe, around and below her earrings of Columbian emeralds. “But it was hardly the most memorable occurrence of my evening.”

“Oh?” Phryne purred, all innocence. “And that was?”

“The damned gala afterward. I’d’ve preferred to walk into a den of lions than spend the night in front of the press while I twirled about the room with you in my arms. The speculation in the papers tomorrow is going to be atrocious.”

Phryne twined her fingers into Jack’s pomaded hair and pulled his head up. Her eyes snapped devilishly. “Let them speculate.”

Jack replied with a low moan and pressed Phryne close against Wardlow’s outer wall, hitching her thigh over his hip, tugging her long shimmering skirt up and her silk lingerie down. “May I have this dance, Miss Fisher?” he growled, soft and hungry, against the pulse in her throat.

She gasped out a laugh and pawed impatiently at the fly of his black dress trousers. “Another, Inspector Robinson? So greedy… you’ve had nearly every one of my dances tonight… and for some time… _oh_ , darling…”

He ground his pelvis to hers, his big hands cupping her buttocks. Phryne’s other leg came up to clamp against his ribs. “I’m a very greedy man, Miss Fisher… and so far all of tonight’s dances were in public.”

“Mmm… a private dance, then, sir?” she teased, dragging her teeth over his bottom lip. “A waltz, perhaps?” She reached between them and wrapped her fingers around his cock.

Jack, his lips busy at her clavicle, groaned deep in his chest. He took the hem of her gown’s décolletage between his teeth and jerked, tearing the satin and sending sequins flying. “A waltz,” he rumbled, nipping at the soft skin of her breast. Phryne whimpered in delight and grabbed for the doorknob. “A long, slow, _close_ waltz…”

Sequins glittered on the front steps for a moment, and then the door closed, and the lights went out.

“ _I_ enjoyed the film, at any rate,” Phryne said, holding Jack’s mouth close to her breast.

His response was, understandably, somewhat muffled. “I should hope so, considering how much money you sunk into the production.”

“And you have to admit, Clara Whiting and Jamie Allen do have marvelous chemistry together, on-screen.”

Jack replaced his mouth with his hand and stood upright so that he could pull Phryne into a hard kiss. “I never studied chemistry, but I fear Mr. Hirsch might have some competition for Ms. Whiting’s affections, after this.”

“It’s only a film, Jack.” Phryne slipped from his embrace for a moment in order to discard her tattered evening gown. Madame Fleury would be appalled at this treatment of her creation, but oh well. “Besides, she continued, returning to Jack’s arms clad only in her camisole, stockings and shoes (her knickers and garters had disappeared, either onto the boards of the porch or else into Jack’s pocket), “I rather think Jamie’s attentions off-screen would tend more towards Raymond than towards Clara.”

“Hmm.” Jack slipped his hands under the satin camisole and twisted it off over Phryne’s head. “Better.”

She struck a sly, artistic pose.

“Even in near-darkness, Miss Fisher, I know that look.”

“Are you up for a challenge, Jack?”

“When do I ever say no to a challenge from you?”

“Frequently. Think you could carry me up to my bedroom?”

“What, as Jamie Allen did to his ‘bride’?”

“Precisely,” Phryne said, a smirk in her voice.

“I shall avoid mentioning that I’m twice Allen’s age.”

“Hardly twice—oops!” She flailed and then clung tightly to Jack’s neck as he carried her upstairs, his arms firm around her shoulders and beneath her legs. “My hero,” she murmured, only half-teasing.


End file.
